


The Loneli(ness) of a Wild Loch

by Kedreeva



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Accidental Dating, Adventure, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Creatures & Monsters, Angst with a Happy Ending, Crack Treated Seriously, Crowley & Anathema Device Friendship, Crowley is the Loch Ness monster, Enemies to Lovers, Humor, Loch Ness Monster, M/M, Miscommunication, Other, Strangers to Lovers, aziraphale is a scientist, does it count as enemies to lovers if one of them doesn't know they're enemies, it's at least
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-18
Updated: 2021-01-18
Packaged: 2021-03-16 20:21:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28836981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kedreeva/pseuds/Kedreeva
Summary: Crowley has long enjoyed his peaceful, human life as the owner of a local pub on the shore of the Loch Ness. The only problem is that it's all a lie, and Aziraphale - the new cryptozoologist in town - has come to find the truth.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 44
Kudos: 159





	The Loneli(ness) of a Wild Loch

**Author's Note:**

> I have to give thanks to the wonderful [Darcy Lingbergh](https://archiveofourown.org/users/darcylindbergh) for [posting a little not!fic to Tumblr](https://forineffablereasons.tumblr.com/post/637992763442479104) about shenanigans at Loch Ness, and giving me the green light to write something similar! While this story won't follow the same track, it did get me extremely excited to write another monster AU, and I do love a good cryptid.
> 
> Just as a heads up, I had a difficult time tagging this, so I may need to add tags as I go along, so please if you need warning for something, check the tags per update just in case.

* * *

_Then-ah then I would awake_   
_To the terror of the lone lake._   
_Yet that terror was not fright,_   
_But a tremulous delight-_   
_A feeling not the jewelled mine_   
_Could teach or bribe me to define-_   
_Nor Love-although the Love were thine._

**-Edgar Allen Poe, "The Lake"**

* * *

On any given Thursday night, the Coiled Serpent—like any other pub hidden from Loch Ness’ incessant, nosy tourists—contained only a scattering of tired locals looking to wind down from their various days before the weekend inevitably arrived. This evening was no different in that respect; in the far corner, Beelzebub and Dagon and Armand sat, two entrees and a pile of fries in the shape of a buzzard-picked carcass between the three of them. At the far end of the bar sat Hastur and Ligur, perched upon their well-worn stools, deep in an argument about nothing in particular.

At Crowley’s end, Anathema had her nose in a book and a drink at hand that Crowley had known she wouldn’t pay for when he poured it. She liked to tell him she paid for it by keeping him company, and he could hardly argue with that. Hers was the only company worth keeping most nights, and certainly the only worth keeping at the moment, as Hastur and Ligur’s argument took a turn and began to crescendo.

“If they _really_ wanted to find the beast, they’d just drain the whole thing and be done with it,” said Ligur, just loud enough to be heard over the wavering notes of music clattering around the corners of the pub. “Can’t miss the thing if there’s no more water to hide in.”

Crowley grimaced. Usually the locals didn’t argue about the existence of the infamous monster haunting their waters, or how to find it, which was precisely how Crowley liked it. Everyone had their stories, of course, of when they had seen the beast. Fools, the lot of them. They had seen logs, or birds, or eels; even the wind sometimes chased a spine-shaped wake over the loch.

But where each story may have differed, they were all on the same page about the monster existing in the first place; it did, and they were sure of it. No sense twisting themselves in a knot trying to prove what they already knew. Best to leave that to the tourists and the scientists. Hastur and Ligur had a great deal of disdain for both types, which was the one and _only_ reason Crowley had let them haunt his pub on a nearly-nightly basis.

It was also why Crowley’s attention snapped to them with such alarm; of all the people in any of the nearby towns, these were the last two prone to discussing how to find the beast.

“You can’t drain the whole loch,” Hastur snapped back sourly. “Where would you put all the water?”

“There’s lots of places need water.” Ligur tipped back the last of his brandy and set the glass down like an exclamation point. “Take it out to a desert. Water some plants.”

“There’s twenty-three _miles_ of the stuff, and that’s just at the top!” Hastur said. “A desert hasn’t got twenty three miles of plants to water, it’s a desert!”

Ligur’s face twisted into a scowl. “So plant some plants first!”

Instead of responding, Hastur swigged his own drink in a way that suggested they had finally reached the point of drinking aggressively _at_ each other, and it was time for someone to step in.

Crowley flicked Anathema a glance begging for luck, and then slid down to their end, plastering on his most pleasantly tolerable smile as he went. A gentle clank of the bottle they’d been sharing interrupted whatever Hastur’s next argument was about to be, and they both glared reproachfully at him. However, they all knew that Crowley was one of the few barkeeps that tolerated the two of them for any length of time, and so they didn’t protest.

“Hello, boys.” It sounded more like a warning than a greeting, with a smile to match. “Top you off?”

Ligur looked down at his empty glass, and made a face. “No,” he said, and pushed the glass toward Crowley. “Spent enough money on you this week.”

This was approximately the same thing Ligur told him at the end of every week, and yet at the beginning of every new week, they both knew he’d end up right back here in the same seat. Crowley was fairly sure the two of them had worn grooves into the stools. He watched Ligur rifle through his wallet, and toss a few notes on the counter. It was enough to cover the drinks, and probably a little extra, which would make up for the deficit in payment Hastur would give him later.

“See you next week?” Crowley asked, as if they didn’t both know the answer.

Ligur grumbled as he got to his feet, and then he patted Hastur on the shoulder twice and disappeared out the front door. Hastur remained where he was, and nudged his glass just close enough to indicate another pour. Hastur usually hung around another hour or two, and he almost always wanted something to eat before he left. It was always to go, and Crowley was fairly certain he didn’t eat it until the next morning, when the hangover kicked in.

Crowley poured Hastur another round, waited a few seconds to see if Hastur wanted anything else, then meandered back down to Anathama’s end with Ligur’s empty glass. She glanced up at him as he approached, and watched idly as he rinsed and scrubbed the glass. When he started drying it, she turned back to her book.

“You could just ask them to leave,” she told him. “Instead of waiting until they get riled up to go stick your nose in.”

Crowley snorted. “It’d only half work. Sure, Ligur starts counting wrong and pays too much once he gets flustered, but if I asked them to leave, Hastur would go without paying at all. Besides, I’d hate to lose such pleasant regulars.”

Anathema did a very poor job muffling her huff of laughter. “You might have _actually_ pleasant regulars if you did. That’s why everyone else booted them out.”

“Oh, but if I had more pleasant customers, I might have better company, and then you’d have to pay for drinks,” he pointed out, setting the cleaned glass among the others.

“Hm.” She curled a hand around her glass and scooted it closer, like a dragon guarding its precious hoard. “You’re right, they need to stay.”

Crowley made a knowing noise, and went back to the cleaning he’d been doing before the interruption, planning to get as much of it done as possible before the last few people straggled out. He usually closed early on Thursdays, as the regular crowd cleared out to prep for the weekend; even in the chilly off-season, people turned up from around the world in search of the loch’s monstrous denizen. He was thankful The Serpent was coiled just far enough out of the way that tourists didn’t usually bother _him._

Beside him, Anathema’s phone dinged. He watched her tip it enough to look, and then her brow furrowed and she picked it up.

“Everything okay?” he asked.

“Yeah,” she said, and then: “Maybe. Have you heard anything about-”

Before she could finish, the door to the pub banged open as though kicked, and came right back around to attack the figure standing in its frame. The man grabbed at it, wrestling against another dragon-spirited gust of wind, and the door slammed shut again just as loudly. As it did, Crowley raised his nose a little, catching the faint, familiar scent of the loch—deep water and fish and chill—mixed with a scent he didn’t recognize, one that left him feeling starved for something far less familiar than the loch.

The entire pub had turned at the commotion, and before the new arrival could get himself together, Beelzebub and company began getting to their feet and collecting their belongings. The newcomer, a confusing mix of young in the face and old in the clothes, dodged around them as they left through the now perfectly-behaved door, and glared after them as if they’d been the ones to cause trouble.

Crowley controlled his smile and watched the man all but storm across the establishment and practically sling himself onto a stool at the center of the bar. He was cute, Crowley would give him that, with all of his fluffy blonde curls and sea-blue eyes and pale cheeks brushed pink with the cold. Crowley took a moment to be captivated by the soft, unworn hands the man set upon the counter, wondering what he could possibly have done in his life that had left them looking idle.

“Crowley,” Anathema hissed, holding up her phone so he could see the messages. He pulled himself from his reverie, but didn’t get a chance to read a single word on her screen before she clattered it noisily to the counter and smiled past him as if she’d just gotten caught with her hand in the cookie jar.

Still feeling a little dazed with the heady scent now permeating the pub, he followed her gaze to find the newcomer staring right at both of them. Crowley glanced to her, but although she gave him very tiny shakes of her head, he didn’t see how he was supposed to ignore a customer that was looking right at him. Anathema and Hastur were the only other people in the place right now; it would be obvious if Crowley did nothing.

“Evening, Stranger,” Crowley greeted politely. “What’ll it be?”

The man didn’t answer, instead turning to glare hard at his reflection on the shiny counter, a frown marring his features.

Rather than push, Crowley tried to get a measure on him. He liked guessing about the lives of tourists. This one looked a little like someone had dressed him out of a thrift store that closed a century back. Crowley was fairly certain that the little gold chain dipping into a pocket led to an actual pocketwatch, which was unendingly endearing. Crowley would not have been at all surprised if the next words out of the man’s mouth were “I curate a museum” or “I teach history at a very stuffy university” or “I own an antique shop full of books no one can afford.”

What he said instead was: “I’m terribly sorry about your door.”

Crowley blinked. “My door?”

“Yes,” the man said, straightening and turning to look over his shoulder at the door as if it might have something to say about its poor treatment. “I didn’t mean to open it quite so harshly, but there’s a bit of a storm brewing out there, and the wind just let itself in, and-”

“It’s alright,” Crowley said, a bit confused. It wasn’t like the man had _actually_ kicked the door down, and he wasn’t a stranger to a gust of wind carrying in a tourist or two. “You haven’t done anything wrong.”

The man slouched a little as he turned around, big, blue eyes full of far more relief than Crowley thought the situation merited, and Crowley felt himself melting a little more. The guy had clearly had a bad day, and if his instant assumption was that Crowley blamed him for _the wind,_ there was a good chance today wasn’t the only bad one. Crowley found himself hoping he could make it better, and had already decided that at least the first drink would be on the house.

“Really?” the man asked, as if Crowley had just saved his life instead of pardoned him for the wind blowing. “Oh, I thought for sure you’d be cross. I haven’t had much luck making friends today.”

Crowley was unable to completely contain his smile. They hadn’t even had an entire conversation yet, much less become friends. He wondered if the man would be so friendly if he knew who he was really talking to. The thought sobered Crowley a little from the strange, scent-drunk feeling. He was going to need a swim soon.

“New in town, I take it?”

“I only just arrived an hour or two ago,” the man admitted with a little wince. “I stopped by a tour shop, only the man at the counter was quite rude and refused to even hear my proposal. It’s not like I wanted to go out on the water this instant. I may not be from around here, but I can tell when there’s a storm coming. He wouldn’t listen at all!”

“Gabriel,” Anathema said, holding up both of her hands in an _I totally wasn’t eavesdropping except for the part where I was_ gesture. “He doesn’t take _researchers_ out.”

Researcher. Scientist.

Whatever good feeling still lingered, left him as Crowley’s blood ran cold at the realization and he glanced over at her with wide eyes. She tapped her phone and raised her brows a little. Someone must have warned her there was a research team in town. Usually Crowley got advanced notice, and had time to make a plan, maybe even close the pub until the team was done snooping around. This time, he hadn’t heard even a whisper of an expedition coming, and now here sat one of the team members, possibly even the head of it, if Crowley’s assessment of him as an intellectual was anywhere near accurate.

He swallowed and got it together with a calming breath. He could handle this. He could be polite to just about anyone after years of experience dealing with locals and so Crowley pulled out a customer service smile and plastered it on. All he had to do was get the man drinking, get him talking, find out what the deal was, and maybe bribe Anathema to stay late and figure out what he could do about it. Maybe the man wasn’t researching the monster at all. Maybe Crowley was safe. He just needed more information.

Instead, what he said was: “I could take you out on the lake.”

Anathema’s foot hit the bottom of the bar in a kick he assumed was meant for him, and he found himself sort of wishing it had connected. That was not at all what he’d meant to say, but he could hardly take it back after the way the man’s entire face lit up at the prospect.

“You really would?”

Crowley could salvage this. “It’ll cost you,” he said, “and you’ll have to tell me about your research first.”

“Oh, that won’t be a problem,” the man said quickly, already half on his feet and looking around as if he’d set a hat down, even though he hadn’t had a hat. “That won’t be a problem at all, my assistant assures me that I have quite a lot of currency, and I’m sure he’ll tell you about his gadgets if you come by in the morning.” A rumble of thunder shivered the pub, and the man seemed to realize there was still a storm on. “That is, you can come by whether or not we go out, I wouldn’t want to endanger anyone going out in this.”

The next instant brought with it a nearly-deafening patter of rain on the roof. Hastur grumbled from the other side of the bar, slapped a few notes on top of his napkin, and left without waiting for any kind of food. Crowley supposed it was just as well; his hands were shaking too badly to handle a fryer right now.

“Where are you staying?” he asked, glad his voice didn’t shake.

“The Swan’s Quill Inn, do you know it?” the man asked.

“I do,” Crowley said, and he very much did. Anathema’s aunt, Madam Tracy, owned the place, and a lot of things suddenly made sense. Tracy had to have been the one that texted Anathema, because she was the only other one that knew enough to do so. The man’s presence _here,_ so far out of town, made a lot more sense, too. “And who might I ask for?”

“Oh!” the man said, blushing in a way that made Crowley’s skin prickle in pleasant ways, despite how dangerous the man before him could turn out to be. “My name’s Aziraphale.”

“Anthony Crowley,” Crowley said, “but folks just call me Crowley.” He didn’t offer to shake, and Aziraphale didn’t seem to notice.

“Well, it was a pleasure and a fortune to meet you, Crowley,” Aziraphale said. “I should- I’d best get back to the inn. I told Newt- oh! Oh, I told Newt I would fetch dinner, the hotel owner recommended your pub, but… well, it doesn’t look like you’re set up for such a late dinner.”

“I’m not,” Crowley said, even though he could have been, “but Anathema will be heading back to town soon. If you give her your room number, I’ll have her drop something off.”

“Splendid!” Aziraphale exclaimed, turning to Anathema and broadcasting a smile which practically glowed. “The lady of the house, I presume?”

“No,” Anathema said quickly, “just a friend who likes free drinks.”

“Ah,” Aziraphale said. His gaze flicked back to Crowley for a second, and then he smiled again at Anathema, this time a bit slyly. “It would seem he’s gotten you to pay after all, running his errands.”

Crowley snorted despite himself. Although Anathema shot him a look, he didn’t take it back. He really, really hoped that Aziraphale was here to research something innocuous. Soil, perhaps. Or minnows. Perhaps local eateries that Crowley could help him-

“She doesn’t mind,” he said, cutting off his own train of thought before it could take that particular track.

Aziraphale made a noise that said he wasn’t sure about _that_ , but all he said was: “We’re in room 208, but I’ll ask Newt to wait in the lobby for you with payment.”

“Your number?” she asked, phone ready. “In case he’s not there.”

“Oh I uh… I haven’t got one of those things,” he said, and then straightened as if realizing how odd that sounded. He did not, however, offer an explanation.

Anathema exchanged a look with Crowley, but Crowley just shrugged. Maybe his phone didn’t work out here. Plenty of people didn’t have plans that covered other countries. “That’s alright,” Anathema said with a less-than-enthusiastic smile. “I’m sure he’ll be there.”

Aziraphale nodded, looked back to Crowley, and then twisted his fingers together in front of him a little anxiously. “Well, thank you. I really do appreciate the kindness. I suppose I’ll be on my way.”

“Drive safely,” Crowley said.

He watched Aziraphale go, aware of Anathema’s gaze upon him the entire time, until the second the door slammed shut with another bluster of storm.

“What the hell was that?” she asked, at nearly the same time as Crowley said: “I don’t _know.”_

“He is a _scientist_ ,” she practically hissed at him. “You know, one of the people that comes here trying to find _you_. The sort of people who want to put you in a cage and pick you apart and-”

“I know!” Crowley said. “I know that!”

“You can’t take him out on the loch,” she said with a shake of her head. “You might as well hang a neon sign around your neck that says, _here I am!!!”_

He shot her a dry look. “I’m not going to touch the water,” Crowley argued. “And if I do and he tries to kill me, I’ll just… eat him or something.”

“You can’t just eat him!” Anathema said, voice raising an octave.

“Well, maybe not _all_ of him, but I absolutely can-”

“Not any of him!” Anathema interrupted. “You are barred from eating any part of that man, do you understand?”

“… _any_ part?”

He neatly caught the empty glass she lobbed at his head. “ _Especially_ not that part,” she told him, standing up to get ready to leave. “Crowley, this is serious. You don’t know anything about them. You are going to make them the worst burgers you’ve ever made in the hopes he never comes back, and when I bring them, I am going to ask his assistant about their work and see what I can find out. You might as well grab a slice of peach for Tracy, too, because she just tried to save your dumb ass from chatting up the cute stranger and doing exactly what you did anyway.”

Crowley sighed. “I’ll send two. And… thank you.”

“Thank me when they’re gone,” Anathema said. She paused in gathering her things, and looked at him. “You make a terrible monster, you know.”

“I _said_ I would eat him!” Crowley protested with a bit of a laugh.

“You invited him on a _date,”_ Anathema said. “Do you even _have_ a boat?”

“Define _boat_ ,” Crowley said with a small wince.

She shook her head, and zipped up her pack. “Just go get the burgers,” she told him, taking her seat again to wait. “I’ll help you find a boat in the morning. You may as well see how it goes. Maybe they don’t know anything. Maybe their equipment is like the other junk we’ve seen.”

“Don’t jinx it,” he told her, but she only shrugged.

He supposed it didn’t matter. There wasn’t anything they could do about it now. If Crowley left town to go farther down the water system, or farther up it, Aziraphale might get suspicious, and if he looked into Crowley’s business at all, he would find out that no one in Crowley’s life was particularly savvy at creating an alias. Crowley’s survival in this place depended largely on no one local particularly caring who he was and no one visiting staying long enough to look into him.

Researchers, on the other hand, were a threat. Researchers came to Loch Ness for long stretches of time to look for signs of their cryptid monster. They stayed long enough that they got to know the land and the locals and the history of this place. Their curiosity did not generally stop and end with their crafts; they were often far too curious for their own good about _anything_ that was unusual.

Unfortunately for Crowley, the creature they had come to find and were most curious about—albeit none of them knew it—was _him._


End file.
